The Truth About Snakes And Men
by RodZD
Summary: Cobra Commander is on his way to Blackwater Prison, and Hector Ramirez is there for the scoop... Be prepared for shocking movie revelations!
1. The Truth About Snakes And Men 1

The Truth About Snakes and Men  
By Rod Hannah  
  
"Good evening. I'm Hector Ramirez, and this is Twenty Questions," the  
clean-cut and notably moustached reporter introduced himself. He sat at  
his news desk with a look on his face which barely hid a nervous  
intensity. "On tonight's program we have a shocking newstory which  
attempts to answer the thousands of questions we get sent from viewers  
each month. Just who is Cobra Commander?"  
  
Hector gave a plastic smile, "Yes, that and many other questions were finally addressed when I and  
the Twenty Question news team accompanied the recently captured  
terrorist leader as he was transported to Blackwater Prison by members  
of America's daring G.I. Joe team."  
  
***  
  
"I'm standing here near the swampy backwater of the Florida Quays, at an  
exciting scene of a recent duel between the terrorist organization --  
Cobra, and our own courageous fighting men -- G.I. Joe. The villains'  
latest schemes have been foiled, and we can once again rest safely   
in our beds. At this very moment, Cobra Commander is being readied for transport to a  
maximum security prison to await trial!" Hector announced.   
  
The camera slowly panned away from him towards a noisey scene in the  
background. Cobra Commander was hauled along by the no-nosense marine  
-- Gung Ho, who exerted a mighty grip on the back of the snake's neck.   
It caused him to squirm and fidget uncomfortably, gripping Gung  
Ho's arm in an effort to get him to ease off. It was no use, he had the  
strength of one hundred-thousand men -- or so it felt right now. Hector Ramirez  
approached with his camera man -- Tom -- and they tried to stop Gung Ho  
for a brief moment as he dragged the Commander to the awaiting WHALE at  
the riverside.   
  
"Nnngghhh.... Unhand me you great ape! Let go of me I sssay!" the  
Commander hissed furiously.  
  
Hector Ramirez leapt in front of the camera and blocked Gung Ho's way.   
"Hector Ramirez, Twenty Questions. Might we have a moment of your time  
Cobra Commander?"  
  
The Commander noticed the camera which immediately captured his  
interest. He attempted to stand tall and proud but met with  
disappointment as a determined Gung Ho held him oppressively haunched  
over. "Certainly...." he managed in reply, though Twenty Questions had  
to walk alongside him as Gung Ho did not care to stop.   
  
"Um... you appear to be on your way to incarceration in one of America's  
highest security prisons -- indeed the world. Any comment to make?"  
Hector asked holding the mic out to the silver face plate.  
  
"Nothing can hold me! You think a few piddling hundred guards and 12  
inch thick stone walls are going to keep me from returning to my  
proper place--"  
  
"Where, the sewer?" Gung Ho snapped. He clutched his ribs as he laughed  
hard and loud and Tom zoomed in on his cajun grin.   
  
"Sssilence! All you people out there in TV land, listen and hear  
this... I will not deviate from my one purpossse of total conquessst of  
the Earth! Nothing shall sssway me in my tasssk!" The Commander stood  
upright, freed from Gung Ho's grasp at last as the G.I. Joe decided to  
let him have his brief moment of fame. "You can expect a tax free world  
under Cobra! The elimation of poverty and famine! The promissse of  
strong centralized government! The world needs leadership. Cobra  
ssshall provide thisss. What more could any hard working American  
want?!" the Commander screamed, urged on by the sound of his own voice.  
  
Hector shook his head as Cobra Commander struck a one minute pose with his  
arms wide apart to embrace the world. Gung Ho spun the Commander around, making it a 5 second pose instead, and continued dragging him across to the WHALE. There, Cutter and several other Joes impatiently waited. Cobra Commander did not offer quite as much  
resistance as before. He was, by now, far too tired by his  
previous meager efforts.  
  
"Get your grubby handsss off me you sweaty, graffiti wearing primate!!!" yelled the Commander slapping Gung Ho's hands  
aside as he tried to grasp him around the neck once again.  
  
"Why you miserable. . . I could live with sweaty, but there's nothing  
wrong with a tatoo! I'll panelbeat your stupid face for that!" Gung Ho  
yelled, grabbing the Commander's tunic and raising his fist into the air  
behind him   
  
"No wait! I like tatoosss, really!" the Commander burbled desperately  
and ran a gloved finger along Gung Ho's chest to point it out. "Uh. . .  
what's more. . . I love cajun gumbo! Hmmmhmmm. Deliciousss."  
  
Gung Ho looked at the Commander and his expression of intense anger  
simmered away as his eyebrows returned to a peaceful level on his  
forehead. "Ya do?"  
  
"Uh... of courssse I do," the Commander stammered, "Our Cobra  
intelligence filesss on you have always impressed me. . . and many is  
the time that I have thought to myssself... I wish I could try sssome of  
Gung Ho's fabled cajun gumbo!"  
  
"Aw shucks. Well I ain't that good a cook ya know..." Gung Ho blushed  
and lowered his threatening arm, releasing his grip on Cobra Commander  
once more.   
  
***  
  
"We are inside the one of the largest G.I. Joe attack craft, the  
WHALE. Air cushioned, the LCAC is a high-speed, over-the-beach fully  
amphibious landing craft, capable of carrying a 60-75  
ton payload. It is used to transport weapons systems, equipment, cargo  
and personnel from ship to shore and across the beach. Today it carries  
one man on a journey to the maximum security prison in Blackwater. We  
are lucky to have been granted government support to conduct our  
insightful interview with the Commander on this journey down river to  
the prison," explained Hector as he turned with the camera to the  
Commander who sat on a seat with them in the corner of the personnel  
compartment.   
  
Cutter was observing them from the back of the compartment near the  
topside hatch. "You may be granted government clearing on this Ramirez,  
but remember, this prisoner is considered to be the world's most  
dangerous man. However unlikely that is, you are advised not to get  
close to him, or to deviate from the interview questions," Cutter  
explained before returning to his pilot's position. He left Hector and  
Tom with Gung Ho and Cross Country to keep the Commander on his best  
behaviour.  
  
Hector sat on a seat pulled up nearby the Commander and tested the  
microphone as Tom set down on his knees and positioned the camera on the  
villain. "Commander, you're the man with his face on the moon. How  
does that feel?"  
  
"How do you think it feelsss to have your very visage carved onto the  
moon's very sssurface. Able to gaze down from the heavensss upon the  
citizensss of the world every night. Hah! It's better than being on  
Mount Rushmore, I'll tell you that!" the Commander cried.  
  
"And in your own lifetime too," Hector added with disinterest. "Cobra  
Commander. Is that how we must know you? What of the man behind the  
mask?"  
  
"My real identity hasss to remain a sssacred sssecret. It's part of  
where my huge fan bassse derivesss from," he explained in his throaty  
calm. Cobra Commander sat back and crossed his legs, resting his hands  
comfortably on his knees.   
  
Ramirez nodded but it was more diplomatic than from a real satisfaction  
with the answer. "Nonetheless, thousands of viewers out there want to  
know. There have been rumors circulating that you are a snake, a  
martian, a closet--"  
  
"--Ahem. I haven't heard thossse before. Who would possibly think I am  
a sssnake? I walk on two legsss don't I? I enjoy playing chesss. I  
doubt any sssnake can do that!" the Commander hissed with a high ring of  
sarcasm to his voice.  
  
Ramirez shurgged, "Well there is the fact Cobra and it's military  
units--"  
  
"---security force," the Commander interrupted.   
  
"I stand corrected... Cobra's security forces are all named after some  
reptillian, usually of the snake genus," Hector finished and held the  
mike back to the Commander's face plate.   
  
"One of the mossst important thingsss you have to underssstand about  
running a terrorissst orgnaization is that it needs to essstablish a  
clear identity. I could hardly call my organization, Llama. We have to  
ssstrike fear and ressspect into enemiesss and it isss for that reassson  
that the cunning and fearsome sssnake bessst sssymbolizesss Cobra," the  
Commander informed him like a school master.  
  
"Yes.... But your speech too? Is that part of the act? Or is it simply  
an annoying impediment we must sadly endure for the duration of this  
interview?" Hector put forward daringly. He held the mike out nervously  
as he saw the black-gloved fists tense.  
  
"I bet there are a lot of people who think my voice sssounds better than  
yoursss!" the Commander spat back.   
  
"Oh it definitely does sound cool. But you can see where that rumor  
would come from obviously. Alright, just for the record. You are  
human, yes or no?"  
  
"The question is sssubjective, but yesss, I am -- a man," the Commander  
said, with a pause, "Which is more. . . than I may say for yourssself."  
  
Hector shifted uncomfortably in his chair and huffed in annoyance. "I  
see. So your being sent forth from a race of prehistoric beings in the  
Himalayas, in order to conquer mankind... was simply a rumor?"  
  
"Why yesss. A rather good one though. One that I whole-heartedly  
endorsssed and assisted in creating," the Commander spoke cheerfully.  
  
"You mean to say that you made that up? I'm afraid I don't believe  
you," said Ramirez with a smile. "What about the B.E.T., and those  
giant bug corpses scattered around the military base? You can't explain  
that possibly?" asked Hector excitedly and he leant forward with the  
microphone.   
  
"Very well. I've been looking forward to revealing thisss you know. Of  
course I'll be able to sssavor it so much more knowing that the public  
will hear this around the same time as the G.I. Joe team," the Commander  
began with relish.   
  
The camera zoomed from Hector's face, to Cross Country and Gung Ho who  
leaned closer to hear this revelation. Finally it zoomed in on Cobra  
Commander's glinting battle helmet.   
  
"It was a ssslow night at the Terror Drome. Destro was mumbling about a  
shortage of ssscotch, while the Baronesss was content to simply moon  
over him. I was giving myself a little target practise when the idea  
hit me all of a sssudden. Dr. Mindbender had mumbled something about  
the number of ssstrange temples around the world with the snake decor  
and architecture. I hadn't thought too hard about it before, but all of  
a sssudden it ssseemed like a marvelous idea. To create a backhistory  
for Cobra, and trick the Joes into playing our game! Mindbender was  
ssstill new at the time, but he was bald and posessed a strong germanic  
accent, so he showed a great deal of promissse.   
  
"I got him to recruit a struggling ssscreenwriter -- Ron Friedman, and  
we ironed out the idea the following week over some hot coffee in the  
dining room. It was a brilliant idea and I'd be able to sit on the  
sidelinesss and watch it unfold over the course of a year. Ron came up  
with the idea for a Cobra emperor, who we jokingly named Serpentor. We  
filled in Destro and the Baroness after we were sure they would go along  
with the plan and shortly we staged the whole hoax of Serpentor's  
creation. He was really only a hi-grade sssynthoid composed of Zartan's  
pseudo-plasm. Though spirited, he still followed his instructions. We  
all acted out our part in front of the troops to convince them I was  
being deposed, and Serpentor followed his instructions to the letter--"  
  
"Wait a cotton-pickin minute snake-breath!" Gung Ho interrupted, "You're  
saying Serpentor was some kind of hoax?!"  
  
Cobra Commander nodded eagerly and to all in the room even his mask  
couldn't hide his beaming grin. "It was tremendousss fun. I got to  
step back from the main scene and sssupervise the creation of the  
Cobra's greatest myth. Mindbender and I spent nearly a full year  
working with Zartan to manufacutre a horde of sssynthoids based on Ron's  
idea. We had intended to release our plot against the world in 1986,  
but we were set back due to problems with Transformers and my little  
pony wasn't feeling well either. Why else do you think Zartan had to  
let his sssister help him out on all those missions in the past year?   
Because he was busy laboring away with Mindbender, that's why!   
  
"Hawk and Joe intelligence were getting suspicious of our activities in  
the Himalayas, so I created a decoy to divert attention." The Commander  
pointed a finger at the country boy, "Cross-Country, how quaint that you  
should be here today. You were the one that took the bait! Don't you  
remember?"  
  
Cross-Country's mouth dropped as the others turned to look at him and  
Tom zoomed the camera in to get a closeup of the Joe's fillings.   
"What? You mean that's what 'the Coil' was all about?"  
  
"Yesss!" Cobra Commander clapped excitedly, "Destro and the Baroness  
practically begged to be a part of the decoy, and we absently forgot  
about the continuity of keeping their loyalties with Serpentor. But you  
witless Joes didn't even get sssuspicious!"  
  
"Wait, I'm still not convinced," Cross-Country began, "What about all  
the stunts you pulled trying to get rid of Serpentor? Hiring assassins  
and that giant creature you awoke!"  
  
"Ah, well I had to keep up the pretenssse that I was preoccupied with  
Serpentor, just like the Coil. I had to ensure G.I. Joe would stand  
idle while we finished preparations for my massster plan. Don't you  
sssee? The Destro's pet monster gag. It was killed when his silly  
mansion was destroyed, but we picked it up to give the monster more  
credence. It was our first sssynthoid on a grand scale and the  
prototype for the giant bugsss that Ron was so insistent that we  
include. We didn't even let Serpentor in on it, so that we would ensure  
the most believable reaction from him. Unfortunately he had begun  
deteriorating and lacked any originality by this point. I kept  
pessstering Dr. Mindbender to expand his vocabulary, but the good doctor  
never got round to it." The Commander paused to allow for responses  
before he finished his tale.   
  
Cross-Country sighed 'woah!' and Gung Ho shook his head angrily. "I  
hope I'm not going to be upset at the end of this."  
  
Cobra Commander took a deep breath, "We finally had it all set up to be  
played out, just like Ron's script. Our sssynthoid, Pythona,  
infiltrated the Terror Drome during the carefully scripted argument that  
I was holding in the throne room with Serpentor. I deliberately ensured  
Pythona would meet little resistance in reaching Serpentor and be able  
to play out her part like we intended. Everything worked out perfectly,  
right down to the lassst detail. Even the Joesss played their parts  
just as we had hoped. Only, we expected Duke to be killed. Not go into  
a coma and pull through at the end."  
  
"So that was why it was so lame," Ramirez muttered to the camera with a  
nod.  
  
"No way! I mean it, there's no way this could be true! Tell him Gung  
Ho!" Cross-Country said hysterically.   
  
"Sssorry hillbilly, but it's the truth. I played you, and the Joes for  
the intellectual midgets you are. And I loved every moment of it!" the  
Commander yelled and broke into a maniacal laugh.   
  
Cross-Country raised a spanner in his hand and loomed over the laughing  
villain. "You can't have done it. Why would you let them turn you into  
a snake. Why put yourself through that humiliation?!"  
  
Cobra Commander shook his head and tried to answer between his laughs,  
"It was all in the ssscript -- everybody was in on it. It was how we  
authenticated Cobra La and Serpentor. Ron said it would be out of  
character, besides, I think my sssynthoid acted rather well."  
  
"What about the spores?" Cross-Country's face was turning red and his  
fingers flexed on the spanner in his hand.  
  
"Creations of Mindbenders. They were in his resume and the reason I  
hired him. We held off an entire year on using them, just long enough  
for usss to grow enough to meet the requirements," the Commander  
cackled.   
  
"Relax, I think it's good to know the whole thing was hooey. A lot of people are gonna be happy," explained Gung Ho. But country boy wasn't interested.   
  
Cross-Country felt a tear run down his eye. "I'm gonna indent that face  
plate of yours you bast--"  
  
"--No! Wait. Didn't I tell you? I love country music! Beverly  
Hillbillies is my favorite show and I love Shania and Dolly!" yelled the  
Commander urgently raising his hands to keep Cross-Country at bay.  
  
"You do? Ah jeez, she is a looker ain't she. And she's got great--"  
  
***  
  
In the Twenty Questions studio, Hector turned to the camera. "So there  
you have it folks. From Cobra Commander himself. The truth about what  
happened with the Cobra La fiasco last year. Perhaps the greatest hoax  
of the century and pulled by the man who has his visage carved on the  
moon. Stay watching for the second half of the interview after these  
very important messages from our sponsor."  
  
Hector turned away from the camera as the director cut to commercials.   
The camera man gave Hector the thumbs up, in relay from the director  
sitting in a windowed booth, just out of sight of the newsdesk. Hector  
smiled and tweaked the ends of his moustache cooly. "How are we  
rating? Anyone have the figures yet?"  
  
Suzy, the production assistant called across to him, "We've got a  
twenty-percent share of the ratings so far. We're a hit!"  
  
"I'm a hit," Hector muttered quietly with a smarmy grin at her slender  
legs.   
  
"They just love Cobra Commander. They can't get enough of him. There's  
been talk that Cool Trash magazine and others are trying to secure  
similar interviews with the King Cobra. So we're lucky we got in  
first!" Suzy shouted with excitement as other crew members began  
mumbling.   
  
"Um.. Suzy. I got in first. Not we. I'm the anchor-man  
here," Hector reminded her.  
  
Suzy stuck her tongue out at him and walked off. He fiddled with his  
tie and smirked triumphantly to himself. "She wants me."  
  
  
  



	2. The Truth About Snakes And Men 2

***  
  
"We are inside Blackwater Prison, home to more than one hundred of the  
world's most notorious and dangerous criminals. A huge citadel  
jutting straight out of the swamp, this fortress has over two-hundred  
hand-picked security guards. Outer walls exceeding twenty-inches of  
reinforced concrete. Manned battlements that overlook the inner  
courtyards and the murky 'gator infested waters surrounding this  
miniature island," Hector explained to the camera. He was standing up  
in the parapets with the Tom nervously holding the camera. He pointed it down at the surrounding  
swamps.   
  
Hector turned, with the camera, to a stout, fat man in a grey business  
suit, with thick-black rimmed glasses perched precariously on the edge  
of his stubby nose. "Blackwater Prison was built on a reputation that  
it was to be both inescapable and impregnable. A reputation that would  
be shattered by the man who returns to these walls once again this very  
day," Hector gave Tom, a quick glance before looking back to  
the suited man. "With me is the prison warden, Mr. Spock--"  
  
"Spoche," the warden sternly corrected him.  
  
The reporter smiled and nodded apologetically, "Mr. Spock, you were warden here  
when Cobra Commander was first brought in for questioning, but within  
moments of his arrival. . . the impossible happened! You were  
gassed along with the majority of the guards inside the prison, and  
thanks to his fellow terrorists, Cobra Commander was able to escape the prison and recapture. . . Until now. Can Blackwater Prison  
hold such a man? Is Blackwater Prison really all it is cracked up to  
be?"  
  
Hector recieved a sharp and simple answer in the form of the man's fist,  
knocking him flat against the rampart. "The name is Spoche! I am not  
normally a violent man, Ra-moron, but I am ill disposed towards those  
who cast dubious assertations over the competence and capability of my  
men."  
  
Ramirez hastily brushed his ruffled hair back and held up his hand, fingers parted in two's as a peace offering. He quickly composed himself for the camera man and Tom's wide grin a deadly glare. As he went to  
speak into the microphone he felt a twang in his jaw and clicked it back  
into place with a slap from his hand. The warden watched him as if  
slightly amused, causing Hector to grumble something that could easily  
have been misinterpreted as 'you fludging basket!' had he not muttered it so  
loudly. Tom coughed a little late to muffle out the profanity but he  
liked the idea of it going on air. Hector was so good at shooting  
himself in the foot afterall.  
  
"What precautions are you taking this time, to ensure such a scene is  
not repeated?"  
  
"Well I won't do interviews for one thing," smiled Spoche, pleased  
with himself.  
  
Hector cleared his throat and gave a short sigh. "The prisoner, sir."  
  
"Well, you see now. . ." the warden seemed to think for a moment, "he is  
accompanied by two guards at all times--"  
  
"--all times?" Hector interrupted.  
  
"Yes, two guards. They don't leave him for a moment. Of course the  
prisoner is entitled to some privacy, but at such times he is monitored  
by surveillance cameras, and the guards are never far. Most of the day  
however he will be spending inside a bleak windowless cell, in the  
maximum security VIP wing of the prison," Spoche explained with an odd  
hint of excitement in his voice.   
  
"A bleak cell does not sound particularly VIP to me. What ever happened to live long and prosper?" asked Hector.  
  
Spoche socked Hector in the stomach, winding the man and causing him to stumble away while turning blue in the face.   
  
"Don't forget this is a prison, not a chateau. Why don't you take a  
look for yourself? Follow me," Spoche signalled with a sneer and led down the flight of steps to the courtyard.   
  
***  
  
"This is the maximum security wing of Blackwater Prison, for the very  
important 'prisoners'. As we walk down these dank and shadowed halls,  
passing by the three-inch thick plexi-glass windows, it offers a pitiful view into the solitary lives of the pyschopathic, maniacal, and just plain 'loopy'. One can not help but have a feeling of trepidation that at any  
moment these insane criminals might leap forth and do nasty and  
unspeakably evil things to innocent reporters and camera-men. Indeed, it is some small reassurance that they  
are securely held within this fortress, unable to loose their evil  
upon our beautiful world." Hector's voice was shakey and he kept darting  
his head about like a mongoose.  
  
The warden shook his head from side-to-side at the reporter, "You really  
make it sound a lot worse than it is. These may be the world's worst,  
but they are all--"  
  
"--Yes, we could interview some of them. I can see it now, 'The World's  
Worst Super Criminals", a terrifyingly true insight into the psyche of  
our planet's most sadistic villains. . ." Hector's eyes were glinting as  
he pictured the ratings share.  
  
***  
  
In the studio, Hector looked angrily across from his news desk in the  
direction of the director's booth. He hopped up from his seat and  
dashed round the desk, smacking his thigh hard into the table corner and  
yelping as he limped across to the booth. He flung the door open to the  
darkened room and the director with his two female assistants turned in  
surprise. "Charles, what is that part being aired for?"  
  
The director didn't appear to understand and simply shrugged. "What  
part?"  
  
"Me, talking about the 'World's Worst Criminals' idea. . . and getting .  
. . assaulted by that Mr. Spock. That was still in there too!"  
whined Hector.   
  
"Oh, those parts. Well to be honest, I thought they were too good to  
cut out," Charles explained and looked back to check the continuing  
broadcast.   
  
Hector stamped his foot, "But Charles, it'll make me look like a fool!"  
  
"Ramirez, people tune in each week to watch you make an ass of  
yourself. This is what the show lives for. Do you think that last week  
when we rated highly, it was because people were genuinely interested in  
the dietary habits of the South Pacific Limpet? Don't worry yourself  
about it my friend," the director offered him a smile which was about as  
meaningful as a wedgie.  
  
The anchor man stormed out of the booth, leaving the director to the  
worried looks of his bikini-clad assistants. "Don't worry about it  
girls. He had to learn sooner or later. Who'da guessed it would'a taken the sorry fool six years?"  
  
***  
  
"In this cell we have the infamous Dr Lucifer," the warden told the  
camera, pointing at the rejected and balding lab-coated prisoner. He was  
sitting behind the plexi-glass on an uncomfortable looking bed. He had  
a sullen depression about him, though his eyes seemed to pierce into  
Hector with the touch of frost. The warden caught Hector's attention  
away from the evil scientist, leading them further down the hall. "Over  
here we have Dr. Mangler. To our left is General Mephisto. Over here is Mr. Diablo. And on your  
right is Blackthorne Shore -- an opportunist who is thoroughly corrupt  
and as obsessed with power as all of them. . . next to him, we have Dr  
Archevil--"  
  
"--Yes, now wasn't he the man that collaborated with the Decepticons in  
bringing Cybertron into Earth's orbit?" asked Hector as he indicated for  
Tom to get a close-up of the villain through the glass.   
  
Archevil was standing in his cell, his hands behind his back, his legs  
proudly apart, as if he were about to address a platoon. His eyes were  
sunken under a heavy brow, shadowed by his wispy white-haired eyebrows.   
But neither his pointed nose, or spiteful face were the most memorable  
of his features. Upon the pate of his head rested a skull-cap of metal  
and wire electrodes, with two aerials protruding outwards like deamonic  
horns. Sprouting from either side of his head was a mess of white hair,  
as if he had styled it after Einstein himself. He watched Hector like  
he were about to scream something so vile and full of hate that it would  
rip the very flesh from the reporter's bones.   
  
"Something best forgotten, I think," the warden warily muttered. He  
urged them on as if even he was afraid to linger for too long in this  
dark section.  
  
"Enough! You don't have to treat us like zoo animals!" shouted Lucifer,  
rising up from his bed and rushing to pound against the plexi-glass. "We are not animals, do you hear?!"  
  
"Yah, geben Sie uns Sie despicable amerikanische Schweine frei!" cried  
the mad General.  
  
"Star Scream!!!" yelled Archevil.  
  
Hector jumped out of his skin and dashed down the hall to catch up with  
the warden, followed by Tom with the camera shaking from side-to-side  
with each stride. The warden slowed his pace down a little, allowing  
them to catch up. Hector didn't dare turn back at the disturbing  
lab-coated bunch behind him, but his eyes darted about hoping to catch a  
glimpse of them still secure behind the clear -- almost invisible --  
plexi-glass. The warden gestured to the final cell at the very end of  
the hall, and lead them over to it, ignoring the taunts and abuse being  
hurled at them by the prisoners. On the otherside of the glass was an  
unmistakable figure, dressed in a blue-costume. On his head was a blue helmet with a freshly polished face-plate  
staring blankly back out at them. The leader of the most powerful  
terrorist organization on Earth, for all they knew, could have been  
reading the book on his lap, as he sat on his bed, but just where his  
'eyes' were focused they could not tell.   
  
"And of course, Cobra Commander, who you have already met," finished the  
warden.  
  
Hector relieved the guard at the end of the corridor from the use of his  
stool, and took it for himself. He placed the stool before the  
plexi-glass and planted himself upon it while the guard muttered  
something unintelligeible due to the rating of the show. Hector looked  
nervously back to the camera, as if he were waiting for Tom's  
encouragement. When he received none, he turned slowly back and cleared  
his throat. Something that Tom noted was an annoyingly repetitive  
custom of his which Hector beleived gave him an air of authority.   
  
"HOW--," Hector nervously shouted and then cut himself off in surprise.   
He put a hand over his mouth and took a couple of deep-breaths while the  
warden exchanged looks with Tom. Hector cleared his throat again, and  
summoned back his courage. "H-h-how is the cell, Commander?"   
  
***  
  
Hector cringed in the studio, watching the broadcast on the small  
television set, off-screen from the newsdesk. This was degrading. It painted him in completely the wrong light. He was going to have strong words with Charles for this.  
  
***  
  
Ramirez turned back to the camera, and then to the warden for help. "He  
doesn't seem to have noticed me. He can hear us right?" Spoche simply  
shrugged. Tom tracked along to film it and then back to Hector who  
found himself caught staring straight into the lense on a close-up.   
"Film the Commander, not me you silly asp!"  
  
He turned back to the cell and decided to try once again. "Um, Excuse  
me. Cobra Commander, may we speak?"  
  
The Commander slammed the book shut with excessive force, like it were a militant   
statement in doing so. Hector jumped  
slightly and his lip wobbled in fear.   
  
"Engaging book," he muttered in a throaty calm, before looking   
directly at Ramirez. "Certainly, now what would you like to talk  
about?"  
  
"Well. . . um, what were you reading?" Hector asked as he uncomfortably  
adjusted his collar.  
  
"Mein Kampf, written by Adolph don't you know," had he a face the  
Commander would have beamed.  
  
"That's kind of scarey," mumbled Ramirez.  
  
"I could write much better. The racial theories aren't really economical.   
Why restrict ssslavery to racial groups? That Adolph was one mixed up  
kid," Cobra Commander shook his head, puzzled by the book.  
  
"Yeeeeeesssssss. . . he was," replied Hector, with hesistation.   
  
"On the other hand, he's quite right about somethingsss, terror should  
be employed in the running of society. Weaker countries shouldn't exist,  
they're just cluttering map ssspace," continued the Commander.  
  
Ramirez frowned, "Cluttering map space? As world dictator you would  
abolish political boundaries and cultural identies?"  
  
Cobra Commander nodded, "I'm a practical kind of  
guy, ssso I'd handle the world in a pragmatic way."  
  
"You don't have any racial policies of your own, then?" asked Hector as  
he rubbed his chin.  
  
"There's only one color in Cobra -- blue!" he explained with a cackle.  
  
Hector gave a weak smile. The Cobra leader was a narcissistic  
meglomaniac bent on being the world dictator, yet he still had a  
charisma about him which was almost agreeable. In fact, off the battle  
field, Hector found him to be not so intimidating at all. Ramirez could  
feel his confidence returning and his interest growing, as he pondered  
over how he could get something juicy and scandalous out of his laid  
back interviewee. "What do you want? I mean really. Come on. . . man  
to man. . . Mano el mano. what are you doing this all for?"  
  
Cobra Commander made a steeple with his fingers and tapped them lightly  
together. "Absolute power! Total control of the world. . . It'sss  
people, wealth, resourcesss -- haven't you read my filecard?"  
  
"Filecard, ah huh. Oh yes, the Joe files were very helpful," Hector  
lied.   
  
Hector had figured out how to catch the Commander off guard. He  
couldn't make a come back on this one. As if he could tell, the  
terrorist threw his copy of Mein Kampf aside and leaned forward on his  
bed, in anticpiation of Hector's next question.  
  
"How do you feel about the destruction, the suffering, the loss of human  
life throughout this lengthy terrorism campaign you have been waging  
with the free world? What can you say to all those people who have lost  
family and friends thanks to Cobra?"  
  
Cobra Commander gave a shrug and had his helmet had eyes, he would have  
rolled them, "Who cares? If you watch the newsss reportsss and  
film footage you will see that Cobra takesss every precaution to ensure  
the sssafety of troopsss. Even Viper Glider pilots are equiped with  
ELAPs."  
  
"ELAPs?" Hector repeated.  
  
"Extremely-Low-Altitude-Parachutes. Troopsss are also well-trained to  
aim between the enemy soldiers in order to 'herd' them into captivity.   
Thessse tactics, combined with low power laser settingsss reduce battle  
casualties to zero. We are even investigating implementing the ELAPs for vehicle use. Parachuting from an exploding tank or jeep is an idea you'll only find in Cobra!"  
  
Hector was puzzled and imagined a soldier being shot and falling to the ground, only for a parachute to explode free from his backpack and blanket him. He tried to bring himself back into focus.   
  
"Okay then, no casualties in battle, but what about the G.I. Joe member  
'Sparks' who is now confined to a wheel-chair for the rest of his life,"  
Ramirez threw it in like he had planned it all night.  
  
"I've never heard of him. He soundsss like someone with the  
Autobotsss," muttered the Commander.  
  
"No, he was a communications specialist in the first few years of the  
G.I. Joe team," Ramirez explained and held a picture of Sparks with  
Clutch, Grunt, Zap, Steeler, Short-Fuze and Breaker. The Commander got  
up and had a quick glance over the photo before returning to sit back  
down on his barely disturbed bed.   
  
"They all look the sssame to me, sssorry," said the Commander with  
another shrug. "To be honest, I don't think anyone would have missed this kid if we had snuffed him."  
  
  
  
***  
  
"It is now Cobra Commander's third day at Blackwater Prison, with no  
sign of any rescue attempts having been made. Nonetheless, a detachment  
of the G.I. Joe team are stationed nearby in the swamps to react to any  
threat. Today however, the 'VIP's' -- that's very important prisoners  
for people who tuned in late -- are at their weekly group therapy  
session. Cobra Commander is among them, though a little unhappy about  
it," said Hector, turning to watch the session taking place in the  
center of the room.  
  
The room was sparse and bleak, like so many other rooms throughout the  
prison. What set it apart, was that this room had a cleanliness to it,  
with white walls, almost hospital-like compared to the dungeon cells.   
The only items in the room were furniture, upon which the prisoners were  
seated facing each other in a large circle. There were eight prisoners  
in all, half of them wore lab-coats, while the remaining four had oddly  
distinctive costumes. Cobra Commander sat slouched forward on his chair  
like he was in a severe depression, while the others seemed either  
uninterested or in a world of their own.   
  
"Dr. Green has just entered and is ready to begin this session -- which  
is Cobra Commander's first," Hector quickly added while the doctor took  
a seat among the prisoners.  
  
"lassen Sie uns musikalische Stühle spielen!" shouted General Mephisto.   
He leapt out of his chair and tried to force Lucifer off his own seat by  
tugging violently at his arm.  
  
"We are not here to play musical chairs, General," Dr. Green informed  
him, as he quickly seperated the two and guided Mephisto back to his  
seat.   
  
There was a moments silence as Mephisto calmed down returning to his  
wide-eyed normality. The other prisoners were unconcerned with  
Mephisto's impulsiveness, though Lucifer was clearly disturbed. Dr.  
Green flicked through his papers and finally looked across to Cobra  
Commander. "Your first time in group therapy I hear. Don't worry, it's  
not as bad as you might think."  
  
"Really," the Commander answered dryly and looked in the direction of  
Mephisto.   
  
"I am Dr. Green. Everyone is famaliar with me by now as this is the  
sixth week we've been holding this particular reform talk. Basically,  
I'd just like you to relax. It's perfectly okay to be a little  
nervous. But all these men have felt the same, so they understand," Dr.  
Green waved a hand around the group, but they didn't acknowledge him.   
He was unphased and returned his attention to the Commander. "Why don't  
you tell us something about yourself, Cobra Commander?"  
  
There was a long silence as Cobra Commander sat motionless with his arms  
folded. Dr. Green frowned, then smiled peacefully. "Anything will do.   
How about your childhood? Any hobbies?"  
  
Cobra Commander shifted slightly, then spoke, "Very well. I was always  
interested in politics and social revolution."  
  
Dr. Green nodded, "How interesting. You know, General Mephisto knows a  
lot about facism. I think I'll make you two buddies for the time  
being." Green indicated for Lucifer to switch seats with Mephisto so  
that he and Cobra Commander would be together.   
  
"I'm not sitting next to him!" shouted the Commander.  
  
Mephisto gave the Commander a wacky look as he sat down beside him and  
offered his hand. Cobra Commander ignored him and Dr. Green cleared his  
throat. "Now, is that anyway to treat someone?"  
  
"I've been here for five years, and these therapy programmes really have  
helped change my life. You should listen to what he says, it will  
really help you," one of the prisoners pleaded to the Commander.   
  
"Go to . . . hey, weren't you on an informercial?" the Commander asked  
as he suddenly noticed the superficial charm. The smile on the man's  
face was worse than Hector Ramirez.  
  
"Yes. But my evil schemes to brainwash America were foiled by good  
guys!" the man told him, then began to whimper and sniffle.   
  
Cobra Commander slapped him across the face, "You can't let them get to  
you! They beat you once, ssso what?! You're not down until you're  
out. Good guys have ssso many exploitable flawsss. Don't you sssee?   
Your plansss can only get better. I'm living proof!"  
  
Dr. Green smiled calmly, "That's enough Commander. It's good that you  
are trying to help him, but this is not the direction."  
  
The blue terrorist growled, "I'm going to enjoy inversing your face!"  
  
"What exactly is bothering you, Commander?" asked Green through   
protruding teeth.  
  
"Bothering me? Ah yes, good question. Now, let's sssee. What could be  
bothering me. Hmmm, well maybe, it's you and these demented lunatics! Sitting around with their mouths gaping wide open like they are trying to catch flies! Look,  
there's one now," the Commander pointed at Blackthorne, who clapped his  
hand over his mouth in shock.  
  
Dr. Green smiled, unveiling his unnaturally white buck teeth in full for  
the first time. "You aren't comfortable and you are angry. There's a  
reason for that, but what is that reason? Concern over my questions  
perhaps? No one is trying to make you uncomfortable. We are only  
trying to help by sharing the problems and--"  
  
"--I'll tell you how you can make me comfortable," the Commander began.  
  
Green raised his eyebrows with interest, "Yes?"  
  
"Give me that guard'sss shotgun for a moment and I'll explain!"   
  
The guard in question was standing nearby the exit, and suddenly  
realized he was being filmed on camera. He waved and gave a cheerful  
smile, before making sure his weapon was securely at his side.   
  
"I'm sorry, but you know the rules," Dr. Green apologized. "Why don't  
we talk about your schooling? Were you picked on as a child?"  
  
"What? Nonsssense! In my day, having scaley skin and a rassspy voice  
was a sign of maturity!" he replied nervously.  
  
"What about later years?" Hector called across, interrupting Dr. Green,   
"You attended a military academy where you lead a mutiny!"  
  
Dr. Green seemed interested, "What drove you then?"  
  
Cobra Commander waved a finger at Green, "The entire academia and  
administration was a giant hypocrisssy. It was practically asking to be  
overthrown!"  
  
"Of course, you would simply have established another hypocrisy in it's  
place with yourself at the helm," Hector shouted across from his  
position with Tom, behind the camera.   
  
"Well, that goes without sssaying," the Commander muttered under his  
breath.  
  
Dr. Green rubbed his hands together gaining everyones attention. "Now  
boys, I hope you've all been practising the song--"  
  
"What sssong?!" the Commander butted in.  
  
"You can join in on the second chorus, Commander," Green told him, eager  
to get started.   
  
All the prisoners, with the exclusion of Cobra Commander, grunted,  
coughed, and cleared the liquids from their throats in preparation for  
the harmony. Dr. Green took the hands of the two prisoners opposite  
him, and in a wave the whole circle was united, with the exception of  
Dr. Archevil. Cobra Commander slapped Mephisto's hand aside so hard  
that it caused the German general to yelp and almost cry. Dr. Green  
suddenly leapt up as if he were about to shout, but his voice was just  
as calm and monotonous as usual. "Now, now. You don't have to hold  
hands if you don't want to. Just give it a chance, believe me it's a  
beautiful heart warming song."  
  
Dr. Green started the song and the prisoners hesitantly joined in,  
though Archevil remained quiet.   
  
"Our life's mistakes can be undone,  
If we just have the will  
Sharing and caring is the way,   
That we may have a merry day  
Helping others and doing what's right,  
Knowing patience we never fight  
We do the time and right our wrongs,  
And know that by the end of this song,  
We are united in purpose of mind,  
And the right path we will surely find."  
  
Cobra Commander groaned and clutched his helmet trying to block out the  
noise. The prisoners sang with such complete boredom and lack of  
enthusiasm that the monotony was truely mind-numbing. Tom chuckled but  
was slapped on the shoulder by Ramirez when his laughter began to shake  
the camera. The Commander began banging his head with his fists.   
"Thisss isss terrible!!!"  
  
"Oh, through truth we can be free,  
And true friends we'll always be  
Like the purest-whitest dove,  
We heal our wounds with love."  
  
Dr. Green waved at the Commander to join in for the repeat of the  
chorus, but he simply sat back in his chair and folded his arms in  
defiance. The doctor tilted his head looking at the Commander like he  
was a cute little kid who was too shy to take part. "Keep going boys.   
Mephisto, Mangler, Blackthorne and El Diablo, I'd like you to hum this  
time!"  
  
As they repeated the chorus, the camera zoomed in on the Commander who  
was watching Archevil. A quick close-up on the mad-scientist's face  
revealed a vacant thousand yard stare, which seemed to have been  
developed through the months of rehearsals he had to sit through. The  
Commander began fidgeting restlessly as Dr. Green smiled at him and  
insisted on a third repeat of the chorus, still vainly hoping for the  
terrorist leader to join in. The Commander pointed fearfully at  
Archevil for Green's benefit, "Look you ignorant fool! I'm not going to  
end up like him!"   
  
Dr. Green shushed Cobra Commander with a wave of his arm as he began the  
chorus once more.  
  
"Oh, through truth we can be free,  
And true friends we'll always be  
Like the purest-whitest dove,  
We heal our wounds with love."  
  
"This is ridiculous! I'm locked up in an Asylum!" screamed the  
Commander. He leapt from his seat into the middle of the circle, to the  
surprise of everyone except Dr. Green. "I'm not crazy, but thessse  
wackos are! If you don't let me out of here, I'm going to have thisss  
place raised to the ground, and you along with it. You. . . wet,  
tree-hugging, hippy!"  
  
Dr. Green smiled and gestured for the prisoners to continue singing,  
"Don't worry. It takes time to settle in with a new group. Why don't  
you just hum if you are worried about singing? I think you would lend a  
wonderful tone."  
  
Cobra Commander lunged for Dr. Green, grabbing the man's lab-coat and  
tugging him close. "You pussy-footed ninny! I have the perfect healing  
therapy. It begins with me reaching down your throat and wrenching your  
spinal column from your writhing body. Then clubbing your still  
twitching corpse to death with that bloated smiling head of yours!"  
  
"The first verse can be a little tricky to learn," Dr. Green admitted,  
"But until you learn it by heart it will be perfectly fine for you just  
to mouth the words. The most important thing is taking an active part  
in the group and working together. Teamwork--"  
  
"--I'll show you where you can put your teamwork!!!" screamed the  
Commander in a terrible rasp.   
  
***  
  
The scene cut back to the Twenty Questions studio, with Hector sitting  
with relaxed behind his desk. "Security guards broke up the therapy  
session and returned Cobra Commander to his cell shortly after the  
ruckuss. Dr. Green was admitted to the nearest hospital with severe  
concussion and a broken nose. Stay tuned after these important messages  
from our sponsor, as we conclude our questions with public enemy number  
one -- the Cobra Commander."  



	3. The Truth About Snakes And Men 3

  
***  
  
"Professor Atilla is a reformed criminal and scientist, formally held in  
Stonewall maximum security prison, she now works at Blackwater in an  
effort to help other misguided super-scientists see the error of their  
ways. Flax-weaving is just how she does that," Hector told the camera  
as he turned with it to face a hall full of Blackwater's criminals.   
They were busy working at tables, weaving flaxes together into routine  
patterns.   
  
Atilla was an attractive latin woman, in her early thirties, with thick-rimmed glasses  
not unlike the prison warden's. The sight of her made him nervous,  
particularly the beauty spot which clung suspiciously to her cheek.   
Although she wore a violet skirt and blouse, with tights that gave her  
legs an attractive varnish, there was something about her that put him  
on edge.   
  
The camera tracked along the many heads bobbing up and down as the  
criminals worked with varying speeds on their bags and baskets. They  
were following the demonstration Atilla had given them earlier, and she  
had encouraged them to try and be inventive with their own designs.   
Hector wound his way between the tables with two guards, Atilla and Tom  
not far behind.   
  
"How does flax-weaving help the criminal psyhe, Professor Atilla?"   
  
"It helps in a number of ways, Hector" she began, "It gives them  
something constructive to do. It is a repetitive, yet fully absorbing  
task ideal to minimise boredom. It exercises the brain's creativity and  
emphasises the need to contribute and build, not destroy."  
  
"Oh Atilla. I've missed you my sweet," came a creepy voice from one of  
the tables.   
  
Hector quickly noted it was one of the lab-coated villains from the  
high-security wing -- Dr. Lucifer. The man balding man was looking  
longingly up at Professor Aitlla from his seat at the nearest table. He  
held up a flaxwork heart, neatly criss-crossed with scientific  
precision. Atilla didn't accept it, looking down at him with contempt.  
  
"You worm, Lucifer. Can't you do any better than that?" she asked  
coldly.  
  
"Won't you say you love me, we could be so evil together," he muttered  
as he threw the flax heart aside.  
  
"Never. I've reformed. You should to," she told him and began walking  
off to the next table.  
  
Hector paused before following, "Lucifer isn't your real name is it?"  
  
"My real name is Dr. David Evil, but there is a copyright problem with  
my surname due to a movie, so I had to market myself with a pseudonym,"  
Lucifer shrugged.  
  
Hector tried to nod as sincerely as he could before hurriedly joining  
Atilla at Cobra Commander's table. The world's most dangerous and  
unscrupulous man was sitting quietly with his hands on his lap under the  
table, and apparently staring unflinchingly at the stack of flax piled  
in front of him. He did not even acknowledge the camera, seemingly  
unaware of it, despite Tom dashing round to the otherside of the table.   
Tom was able to work Atilla and Ramirez into the shot and get a good  
look at the professor's cleavage which Hector was inadvertently gawking  
at.  
  
"You are not taking part, Commander." Atilla stated, rather than asked.   
  
There was a silence that followed her question. Cobra Commander would  
not answer. But for Hector it was the realization that Atilla was  
staring at him, that prompted him into action. He tore his eyes away  
from her blouse and tried to think of a question. "Commander, have you  
ever done flax-weaving before?"  
  
Without moving, the blue-costumed villain spoke, "I am not doing  
anything until my request to be transssferred to Stonewall Prison is  
cleared."  
  
"Why don't you at least try weaving something. It can't be any worse  
than sitting here doing nothing. Surely?" the professor asked begging  
reason.  
  
After ten long seconds of waiting, and being presided over by Atilla,  
who tapped her fingers against folded arms in wait, the Cobra Commander  
finally reached forward and picked up a piece of flax. He twiddled it  
thoughtfully in his hands. He bent it into an arch either way and then  
tapped it lightly against the table in gentle whips. He ran his gloved  
fingers along the flax, like he were weighing up whether it was worth  
his time.   
  
"It's the finest tropical flax, Commander. I especially set aside the  
best for you," she lied. She knew the ruse of the best flax may be the  
encouragement he needed to hear.  
  
***  
  
"It is the fourth day of Cobra Commander's stay in Blackwater Prison.   
His request to be moved to Stonewall, which he believed would be quote  
'saner' unquote, was barred by the prison warden. This has lead to the  
Commander becoming increasingly hostile and spending long hours pounding  
the plexi-glass of his cell, with his stool. He is due for trial in   
two days, and will stand for his numerous crimes against humanity.   
Finally being brought to justice. . . Or will he? We, at Twenty  
Questions were skeptical, and predicted a possible release on  
technicality through the legal firm with which Cobra Commander has often  
been associated -- Extensive Enterprises. But events that were to take  
place this day were beyond even what we could have predicted."  
  
Cobra Commander picked up the letter that the guard had pushed into his  
cell, through the slot in the door. Tom zoomed up close and personal as  
the Commander tore the envelope open and quickly unfolded the note  
inside. Hector fidgeted impatiently and finally spoke up as the  
Commander sat down to read.   
  
"Who is it from, Commander? A secret admirer perhaps?"  
  
"It's from my loyal and faithful minions. . . er lackeysss. . . er  
underlingsss. . ." the Commander started to sound frustrated. Finally  
with hesitation, he decided that for the viewing public they would  
henceforth be known as his "toadiesss."  
  
"What does it say?" Hector eagerly asked.  
  
"Dear Cobra Commander," he read aloud, "Do not fear, your liberation  
isss at hand. . . Cobra can't function without your stupendousss  
leadership. . . crumble into ruin. . . cat hasn't been fed. . . Baroness  
in tears. . . etcetera."  
  
Hector gave the camera a puzzled look and turned back to the Commander,  
"It sounds like they really miss you. What is your relationship with  
your 'toadies' like? Do you consider any to be friends?"  
  
Cobra Commander put down the piece of paper and picked up his flax hand  
basket. He put it's strap over his arm like he was about to go  
shopping, yet remained seated. "Friendsss? Oh. We get on sssuperbly.   
People may think we squabble a lot, but it's really jussst our way of  
showing how much we care for each other. Destro is almost like a second  
cousin to me. Zartan isss like a half-brother. The Dreadnoks are like  
my little step-kids, and the Baroness is that person who looks after  
everyone and does the cleaning up."  
  
"A mother?"  
  
"I was thinking ssservant wench, but yes, that's the same thing I think," the  
Commander wondered.  
  
Hector paused and tapped his chin, "So, you are a close family?"  
  
"No, not really. I despissse them as much as I despissse that revolting  
dead ssslug perched on your upper lip," the Commander cackled.  
  
Hector huffed angrily and stroked his neat mustache tenderly. Tom  
laughed, knowing Charles would keep that in for the final broadcast.   
The reporter was able to compose himself enough to ask his next question  
through clenched teeth. "Did you know your parents well?"  
  
"No," the Commander said in a more serioues and throaty tone, "My father  
was a car salesssman who never had time for me. My mother. . . well,  
she worked. . . around town. Ssso I escaped them both by becoming a boy  
scout at the earliest opportunity. I went on to military academy from there, and finally struck out on my own. I got where I am today without  
their help, and look at me!" The Commander gave a well practised and  
melodramatic cackle of evil as he stood up and struck a suitable pose  
while his handbag jiggled about at his side. "I control the largest  
terrorist organization in the world! I've held the world to ransom more  
timesss than a than I've succeeded!"  
  
Ramirez tried not to smirk, "What about love? Have you ever been in  
love? Will there ever be a Mrs. Commander with whom you could awake the  
slither of tiny Vipers."  
  
"Love is absolutely sickening to endure, and the mushy talk . . . utter  
and pure drivel!! Once I am supreme ruler -- princep of the Earth -- I  
will need an Empress with whom to create a lasting dynasty. But  
presently, I'm quite content with the Baroness as my consort."  
  
"I see. I thought she was with Destro?"   
  
"Oh yes. She's with Destro. Uh. . . edit this part out will you?"  
  
"Fat chance," smiled Hector.  
  
Cobra Commander looked at the clock in the hallway outside and then  
shrugged, "Is that camera waterlogged?"  
  
"Yes, why do you ask?"  
  
***  
  
Cutting back to the studio, Hector gave the camera a hard and very  
concerned look. "What you are about to see, may be too violent for  
small children and old women. We strongly advise parental guidance, and remind all  
viewers that what you will be seeing is absolutely real and not in the slightest bit hammed up or acted."  
  
Hector turned to the monitor in the studio and the camera switched to  
the video feed of the scene in the prison cell block. An explosion  
rocked the wall, suddenly the camera was consumed in a thick atmosphere  
of smoke with peices of debris flying everywhere. Hector Ramirez  
chirped in for the viewers benefit.  
  
"What you are witnessing is an explosion in the wall to the back of  
Cobra Commander's cell. The grey smoke makes it hard to make things  
out, but as you can see, we have highlighted the shape of the Commander  
in this slow motion replay. You can see him ducking beneath his bed  
directly before the explosion occurs. A gaping hole is punctured  
through by the force of the blast, and only moments after the dark  
shapes of four men are seen entering into the cell to extricate the  
Commander."  
  
"By zooming in with digital technology, we are able to enhance the  
pictures of their weaponry which. . . are a motely assortment of a  
buzzsaw, flame torch, bayonette and harpoon gun. These are extremely  
dangerous close-combat weapons, belonging to the mercenary 'band' known  
as the Dreadnoks."  
  
The figures on the video became clearer as the smoke began to dissipate,  
and their rag-tag uniforms could be seen as they lead the Commander out  
through the hole in the wall. A second explosion was heard though very  
faintly and far off camera, while the sprinkler system turned the  
hallway into a wet city street. Guards splashed and slipped past the  
camera in the rain, struggling with keys in the door to open the cell.   
Shouts filled the air as more guards came onto the scene in the  
confusion and cries of concern and abuse spewed forth from the  
neighboring cells.  
  
"A second explosion occured some ten seconds after the first, and blew a  
hole in the airboat hangar on the otherside of the prison. Both blasts  
were from rocket propelled grenade launchers, that's RPGs. The first  
was carried out with surgical precision on the outer wall at the weakest  
point nearest the Commander's cell, while the second was fired by  
another accomplice on the opposite side of the prison in order to trap  
pursuit vessels inside the base. Your intrepid reporter was unable to  
follow as--"  
  
Hector went dead silent with shock as the video showed him screaming and  
running in the opposite direction of the escaping prisoner. Hector  
coughed, narrating on live TV. "--So I sought help."  
  
There was a murmur of laughter in the studio, which caused Hector to  
shift anxiously in his seat. He anxiously continued his narration, "A  
G.I. Joe WHALE hovercraft arrived outside the prison in response to a  
distress call from the warden. With this reporter aboard, it sped off  
in pursuit of Cobra Commander."  
  
Hector watched and felt his pride returning as the camera wobbled and  
jerked about while Tom chased after him onto the WHALE. Unable to waste  
time arguing with the reporter and camera man, Cutter pulled the  
hovercraft away from the walkway. Cutter glanced at his new passengers  
briefly before turning back to his wheel and the river ahead. "We all  
have a job to do. Mine happens to be recapturing the Cobra Commander.   
Yours is filming it. If you get in my way, then the aligators will be  
dining on something extra tastey tonight. Clear?"  
  
Ramirez nodded, but Cutter wasn't even looking. He sped up into gear,  
causing Ramirez to stumble over and clutch the deck panels for his  
life. The Swamp Skiers that the Dreadnoks were on were sighted in the  
distance as the WHALE entered the under the canopy of the dark swamp.   
They were too far to exchange fire with yet, but slowly the WHALE was  
gaining.   
  
"As we followed them deep into the swamp's of Blackwater, we realized  
the Dreadnoks, on their smaller vehicles were trying to lead us into a  
densely vined area which would have been impassable to a vehicle of the  
WHALE's size. If G.I. Joe was going to stop these thugs, it had to be  
now."  
  
The WHALE swerved violently around a bend in the river, sending a tidal  
wave of water into the trees and nearly knocking everyone off. Hector  
found himself slide uncontrollably over the side of the WHALE and his  
feet hit the hover cover. Hector struggled to cling to the side of the  
WHALE and keep himself from falling into the river, to be forgotten  
about by all but the restless 'gators. He turned with shock to see  
Cobra Commander was alongside him on a Swamp Skier piloted by Zartan.   
He reached for his mike and held it close to his mouth over the roar of  
the engines.   
  
"Cobra Commander, one final question. . . where is Cobra going from  
here? What can we expect?" Hector shouted.  
  
Changes," Cobra Commander shouted across from the skier as he clung to  
Zartan's shoulders. "Expect Cobra to be dramatically restructured. It  
will not resemble the Cobra of before. Another thing is that we will  
premiere a whole new series of high-tech vehicles. They will reflect the  
big upwards shift in the nature of the G.I.Joe/Cobra conflict. A  
conflict that we shall win! Expect flourescent colors and franchising of the 'Viper' name within our new units."  
  
Hector gulped as the Commander pointed a gun at Hector's head and  
readied to pull the trigger. Cross Country made a flying leap and  
caught Hector by the hand just as the reporter was about to slip and  
fall into the aligator infested waters. Hauling him back up onto the  
deck, Cross Country yelled for him to sit up with Cutter and stop  
fooling around. Gung Ho fired several shots at Zartan's Swamp Skier,  
causing the mercenary to speed off ahead for his own safety and for his  
passenger. Cobra Commander, laughed and screamed, "Cobraaaaaaa!" as  
they disappeared into the jungle of vines.  
  
"Having a brush with death, I was content to remain seated for the  
duration of the pursuit. Up ahead the Dreadnoks were now within range  
of G.I. Joe's guns and a firefight began which lit up the shadowed swamp  
like the you'd expect, I suppose... The Dreadnoks, with Cobra Commander however,  
created a cliched smokescreen which we could not follow into without risk of  
crashing. Once it had cleared, they were long gone."  
  
***  
  
Back in the studio, Hector looked seriously at the camera. "So ends our  
feature on Cobra Commander. A man who rightly told us from the  
beginning that he would not be held in captivity for long. Blackwater  
Prison's security measures are to be reviewed by the Pentagon over the  
next month, but could anywhere truely hold this man? At Twenty  
Questions we believe not. Though Cobra Commander is gone for now, we  
know we shall hear from him again. Until the threat of Cobra is truly  
destroyed, this is Hector Ramirez. Goodnight."  
  
  



End file.
